Wistman's Wood

Went for a walk to Wistman's Wood on Dartmoor on New Year's Eve. This sketch was made a few days after I arrived back but doesn't really capture the twisted and weather beaten character of the trees in one of the countries highest oak woodlands. It was just a quick sketch one lunchtime to go with the following poem.

Post Christmas thunder and heavy rain clouds

Tightly wrapped coats amidst chilled wind

Well trodden path along granite hillside

Sheep: colour washed with blue.

Walkers passed with damp muddy dogs

Across boggy boulder strewn moorland

The distant wood dwarfed by higher conifers

Anticipation of discovery drives me onward.

Centuries old trees, battered and bruised

One of Britains highest oak woods lies

On a bleak clitter strewn hillside

Where no man nor beast would roam.

Stunted and twisted the trees arise

From between close-knit weathered boulders

Mosses, ferns and lichens

Embedded on rain soaked branches.

History has left this wood untouched

But for curious wanderers, witches and druids

The makers of legends and those

Who seek its artistic inspiration.

A fragile habitat - I shall not enter

To clamber over the rocks and gawp

I have nothing to offer in return and

One less intrusion just might be appreciated.

Place of trees

Notes from sketchpad 28 December 2011, Lydford Forest, Devon

Sheltered : cool breeze but not cold : sunlight highlight the beautiful bright greens of the mosses underfoot : south facing : cloudy with sunny intervals : high pitched calls of birds (tits etc) : whooshing of wind in tree tops, but still here : golden brown leaves on beech saplings : murmur of stream below : mosses all over the ground - deep, soft : spacious : light filters down between the dark douglas firs : Qi Gong - feel and hear the moment of the air around me : special place

Beauty of Creation

Reflections written 27 December 2011 whilst at Lamerton Church, Devon.

There is beauty in this dark porch. Sheltered from the cool breeze with dusk falling and light fading. It is impossible to see what I am writing so I am having to scribble by guesswork. The old metal gates are silhouetted against the dark yews and the greyness of the churchyard. This old wooden bench is my resting place after the hours of motorway driving and the beginning of a holiday at the end of the year. Christmas is over and this is a pilgrimage that takes me out into the wildness of nature. Here I am, in this old stone porchway of this ancient stone church.

This small space is so old and yet so beautiful. The handcrafted stones stand cold and exposed, like the tors on nearby Dartmoor. With the high arching woodwork, an old heavy wooden door, Christmas floral arrangements and crafted metal gate this is a wonderful place to be - to rest. It is a place created by ancient craftsmen - you can sense the work of their hands and you can imagine the 1000's of worshipers who have passed through into the place of worship. By their handiwork the craftsmen give their gift to God. This place reflects the beauty of the created world in a time when wood and stone meant so much to people who knew how to use their hands to fashion form from the wilderness. How their skills have been lost and with them a sense of awe and wonder at the simplest of things. The heavy stonework exudes peace.

This is my place to Be right now.

Dreaming of Stones

I'm remembering a landscape of stones. Stones of size and stature that embody a landscape with form and shape. Stones that hold mystery and meaning. Stones that integrate with other beings and elements to create diversity. I imagine it is beckoning me and awaiting the feel of my fingers and tread of foot.

The winter arrives with a promise of cold and darkness, and a landscape that opens to allow the wind and rain to permeate to every place and being. To me, the winter brings another source of life and energy. Not that of spring or summer, but one that dwells in the secrets that the wind whispers in the trees, in the transformations that winter light can bring to the hills and in the scents that arise from the dampening earth. It is strong, earthy and wild, yet possibly lonely but adventurous. You have to take yourself out of a comfortable place in order to seek it and be energised by it. It isn't for the unprepared - being cold and wet is not a good place in which to be.

In about four weeks I'll be back in a landscape that owes its being to the commanding nature of stones. Dartmoor. It will only be a short time there - just a couple of days. Not nearly long enough to retreat into it from the busyness of life and to get to know its subtle qualities of existence. For some reason my mind is dwelling on the bare rocks and stones that form the high wind swept tors, the softness of the mosses that cover rocks in the woodland and the cold colourful stones in the beds of clear streams. I am eager to meet them again - to touch, hold and smell them, and to acknowledge their presence in the landscape. Just like the ancients who created stone circles, the people who made hut circles, the farmers who built eternal walls and the destructive quarrymen have all done in the near and distant past. Stone is the landscape there and it has connected with the lives of humans for thousands of years in many differing ways.

I want to learn something from the stones this winter. I know I cannot hold more than just dreams nor expect nature to give up secrets just when I am there. I just have to be, to just observe and see what guides me.

Sunrise on Dartmoor

I had the opportunity to watch a sunrise on Dartmoor one cold, late December morning. I parked the car in my usual place and, with frost on the ground, a perfectly clear sky and a freezing wind pouring off the moor, I began to wonder if it was such a good idea. With plenty of warm layers and with a faint hue of blue in the east amidst the darkness I set off. Sharpitor was a good half hours walk away up over the moor and I decided this would be a good vantage point. Fortunately I knew the tracks in the area so walking in the darkness was quite straightforward. I hoped that once I reached the top of the tor I would be able to shelter out of the wind behind the rocks. The walk was easy going, but once I reached the rocks just below the tor the strength of the wind made be watch my step with care. The sky was lightening now and I managed to shelter just as a sheep might do behind some of the large rocks. The wind was coming form the east so couldn't l couldn't directly face the sunrise but, from where I huddled, I could see south over to Burrator reservoir and beyond, west to Tavistock and Kit Hill and north up to Brent Tor. A huge panorama spread out beneath me. As the lightness increased the orange glow of the street lights and houses in the built up areas began to fade and the subtleties of the Devon natural landscape began to emerge out of the darkness - the hills, woods, fields and hedges. In the sky a long pinkish band of haze appeared and moved westwards as the rays of sunlight hit the atmosphere above me before the sun appeared on the horizon. It was a long and chilly wait before the first golden rays of light lit up the tops of moors around me and I braved the wind to peek out from my shelter to see the golden sun just appearing over the central mass of moor in the east.

I awake, I awake to the quickening morn
I awake to the cold new day
I awake to the sound of the calling wind
I awake to the song of the earth.

I awake, I awake to the quickening morn
I awake to the rustling grass
I awake to the cold and the ancient rocks
I awake to the winter's light.

I awake, I awake to the quickening morn
I awake to the crystal sky
I awake to a land of shadows and light
I awake to the dance of life.

By now I was freezing cold and decided I had to go down into the woods to find shelter. I always like to watch the sunrise and making it a special event is always worth doing.

I spent the day wandering around Burrator Reservoir and trying to do some drawing. The wind quite strong and cold and very few places afforded shelter and the promise of some warm sunshine. I finally warmed up after lunch after I had given up drawing and I had to go for a long walk to warm up. In the strong winter sunshine the colours were superb and I just walked and enjoyed them.

My stone received a brief visit from me and although I was cold, I did stay with for a while - after all, I had been waiting a year to come back here. It gave me a few words:

May I know my strength
and where I belong,
may I know my dance
and also my song.

Green Symbolism at Lamerton Church

Boxing Day, and I travelled down to Lamerton in Devon. I had been looking forward to this time away and for once it seemed as though the day was not damp, foggy or rainy. The strong cold winter sunshine felt almost spring-like - I even saw lambs in fields around Okehampton. As I passed the western edge of Dartmoor towards Lydford, glimpsing the moorland and high tors behind the hedgerows through the car window, I felt a strong sense of having arrived at a place of learning and discovery. A place which, over my very short visit here, I would ask for inspiration from.

Lamerton Church
I was surprised to find Lamerton church open in the latter part of the afternoon. Alone, I entered its cool presence and sat to sketch one of the many Christmas floral displays that brought colour and organic presence to the cold stone place. I wrote down some words that came to mind: stillness, beauty, peace, light, pattern, cold, wind-swept, stone, wood, plants, strength, community, bringing together, regeneration, birth...

This is a place of light and shadow, with an odd flickering movement of leaf shadows from outside wind-blown trees up near the altar. This is a place where nature meets man's worship to God. The flower arrangements are elements of abundant life brought into this place of worship. The colours of the flowers in front of me are alive in the cold fading sunshine of the evening, vivid against the darkening background of the cold heart of this ancient place. Their fragrance still mingles with that usual, churchy smell.

Here, as in all most old church buildings I find that silence always brings peace. There is always a presence here - mine? The place holds the message of Christmas, but not just in the transitory decorations, but in its purpose and presence. I hold no fear of my faith here. In this place is my story, my myth, my belonging, but it is also out on the wild moors nearby.

Greenary in the Church
As an exercise I decided to look around and see what natural imagery I could find the the church. There was a huge amount that I spotted in only a quick superficial look:

wood panels, floor tiles, stone carvings; text borders on ornaments, monument decorations, leaves on picture of the last supper, altar cross and decorations, stained glass on windows, stone arches, communion rail posts, floral motifs on organ pipes, pulpit, ends of pews, wooden screen, roof bosses (even a Green man), iron floor gratings, wooden font cover, kneelers and cushions.

I even found some small ferns growing on some inner stone walls - real greenary growing inside the church!

The Buzzard
I step outside and walk up the road. The evening sunlight is just disappearing as the sun settles behind the summit of Kit Hill. I see a buzzard, circling high in the cold wind against the blue sky. Silent, a hunter and always staring at death unless it can find food to fight the winter's cold - its wings catching the orange sunlight. There is some connection here with the church, with man's desire for life, salvation, hunting/looking for survival and meaning... or something like that!

High above the buzzard an aeroplane leaves a white trail. Like the buzzard - silent, yet clearly a disconnection with nature - it embodies man conquest of the planet, domination of nature and technology, and of not working with the earth but against it.

In the Sweat Lodge

I had been very apprehensive about doing a sweat lodge at the Resurgence Summer Camp last weekend. I thought it might be a bit too "spiritual" in ways I would be uncomfortable with. In then end, having talked to a guy about his experience with one on previous years, I went for it and I really appreciated how well lead it was and how comfortable with the experience I was. It felt very neutral and that it was up to me to approach it how I wanted to. Being in a small tent, with some red hot stones, about ten people, a large jug of water and complete darkness was fun. With just our thoughts, singing, freedom to express ourselves and a good deal of humour we had a great time. Oh, and outside it there just happened to be a hole dug in the ground full of mud and water for us to fall into and gaze up at the star-lit sky!

In the blog "On my Dartmoor Stone", April 2007, I had been struggling to cope with the sense of immense darkness and loneliness I felt within and beneath a stone I often visit on Dartmoor. In the sweat lodge I returned to those thoughs but here I felt another experience that sort of healed those uncertainties - the absolute, yet safe darkness from which I come and will return to (physical or just the darkness of the unknown past/future); the immense heat of creation that formed the rocks now glowing in front of me and which dwells at the centre of the earth; the refreshing water and hot steam that cools and gives us life; the intimacy of other beings in a completely unshameful way; the music of our communal song and an intense moment of escaping to a different place.

Sometimes you just have to do things that take you out of your comfort zone.

Christmas Walks

I had been looking forward to my Christmas break for many months and although much of the time did seem be spent with the family and relatives I was able to go for walks at Burrator Reservoir on west Dartmoor and around the nearby Lydford Gorge, and up on the Shobdon and Wapley Hills in Herefordshire. I had high expectations of being inspired and somehow felt let down. I think that because I was so keen to just get out and walk that to actually spend some quality awareness time there seemed a little difficult. I just wanted to see as much as possible and enjoy being away from my office/work.

In some ways what I think has happened was that I gave myself a break that sort of gave me time to just re-evaluate and step back from my normal thoughts. Now that I am back to normality and day to day living I feel invigorated to do more and be more motivated to do various things.

Perhaps familiarity with a landscape enables one to feel more close to it. If you go somewhere you know well and see often, you are less likely to be distracted by it. Then I think it is easier to meditate, think about your connections and do prayer.

Mind you, it was cold out! Spending time sitting for long periods did not seem the easiest thing to do, and I didn't sketch as much as I had hoped I would. But I did, physically, enjoy myself (if not spiritually), by walking, looking, and touching the landscape around me. When I sat on my 'stone' on Dartmoor and the sun appeared for a few minutes for the only time that day. It was beautiful.

The Dance of Butterflies

Blanchdown Woods, Tavistock, Easter Day.

I walk down a forest track with tall conifers surrounding me. The sun is warm on a bright spring afternoon. Peacock butterflies are all around - only one or two in sight at a time, but the woods seems full of them as I walk through the trees. I come across one on the gravel, another flies near it and they both rise spiralling upwards to the sky together and disappear out of sight. I find a place to sit and watch one sunning itself on the gravel road - sitting facing way from the sun with wings outstretched towards the warmth giving sun. It sits for many minutes before flying off into the trees. Others fly by me, I can hear them fluttering as they pass by.

On My Dartmoor Stone

Last weekend, Easter Saturday, I had the chance to visit 'my stone' on the edge of Dartmoor near Burrator reservoir. It is a fairly inconspicuous and unassuming stone - most of it is probably buried in the granite and peat moor. It is just a wide, circular dome-shaped stone, only rising about a foot from the surrounding grass, and it is just a good shape upon which to stand, sit or lie. It is immediately surrounded by sheep-grazed grass and single standing pines, with denser conifers behind it and a view up to a nearby tor in front. Nothing amazing, but it is a place which I have visited over several years.

My pilgrimage to the stone was about an hours walk from where I had left the car.

It was a cool morning with the promise of a warm sunny spring day. There was a moderate haze that obscured the distant views. The larches around the stone were tinged with the green of new growth and gorses were in full flower. I sat and listened with my eyes closed: skylark, chaffinch, crow, woodpecker and other small birds in the pines. There was only the faint gentle mumer of the wind in the trees - almost imperceptible - like a slow wave of sound moving across the forest. Sometimes it would be good to be in the wind in a place like this and hear the wind totally naturally - without hearing the sound of the wind around your ears and head which can make up much of what you hear. No human sounds, or perhaps just a faint few voices from distant walkers, but none passed my sight in my time here. A couple of aeroplanes up high; and the buzzing of flies.

I welcome my soul to this place
I welcome my soul to the sun
I welcome my soul to the breeze
I welcome my soul to the trees
I welcome my soul to the grass
I welcome my soul to this stone
I welcome my soul to this place.

I lay down on my stone and put my ear to it. What would I hear? So close to the ground, I could sense its depth, its blackness, its coldness, its infinite connection to the earth beneath.

Looking closely at the surface of the granite stone was fascinating. A world of moss and lichens on the weathering granite - with tiny patches of black (mica) glistening like small gemstones in the speckled white stone (quartz). I notice the small and black spherical lichens around a few millimeters or less in size. Some lichens elements were even smaller (I must revise my botany too!). All forming a microcosm of life on the rocks surface.

My stone and I enjoy an hour together, just experiencing peace and presence in the landscape.

***

There is so much I could draw in the landscape but, when I am only here one or two days a year, having a decent walk and just enjoying exploring always seems to take priority.

Return of Spring

Listening to the music of Nigel Shaw in Hitchin on Saturday was an experience that went far beyond just the music itself. For a musician to make such beautiful and inspiring music from flutes made from wood around Dartmoor I am sure involves a greater sense of connection between the wood and its place in the landscape than just the desire to make music. You would have to 'feel something' for the wood and almost let it speak to you and have its own voice through the music. You become a go-between - a medium through which a tree can communicate.

I have listened to much music in the past and have usually been unable to take any interest in connecting words and music. The music itself has always been the lure - words meant very little. Now I find that in this music, words begin to have significance. I begin to find music that means more - because I understand and identify with those who write it. I was struck by the beauty and love that was showed between the two musicians (Nigel and Carolyn) and how they communicated with each other and the audience. The words and music evoked in me the sense of the loss of communication we often experience in families and communities which was, presumably, stronger in older tribes and cultures.

How can I express the voice within me that speaks from the earth?

Thank you for this day.